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of the mean girls.
    ‘Morning,’ trilled Kenny as she entered the office floor. ‘We’ve lined up three interviewees for both you and Alva, you’ll be heading off at noon. She’s already gone.’
    By the time she got to the people in question, they’d be fed up answering the questions, so trying to get them to say something new and interesting would be next to impossible.
    ‘What are you doing, standing there staring into space?’ asked Kenny angrily. ‘The rest of the show’s research won’t do itself, you know.’
    When the crew came back, Alva swanned over to the editing suite like the cat that got the cream.
    ‘You ready to go?’ asked Harry, the main cameramen.
    ‘Of course,’ she said, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel.
    The first house they went to wasn’t great. The woman had been looking after her severely physically disabled son for years. While the lack of support that she got was appalling, the woman was understandably angry and abrasive. She clipped out her answers in staccato sentences, her frustration at her situation and at having her plight used for competition purposes by Focus Hibernia evident. She wouldn’t open up about the emotional impact. Nicki got some good quotes, but the show segments really worked when there was a relatable heart and soul to the interviews. And Nicki wasn’t going to find it here.
    She thanked the woman and got into the car.
    The next interviewee was a man who had the heart she was looking for. He had nursed his wife from home until she died, saving the state hundreds of thousands in hospital costs, and had been a struggle for them to get by even before the cuts had hit hard. The man couldn’t see how carers were going to be able to manage if the supports were withdrawn.
    Again she managed to get a couple of good answers from him, but nothing that would form the main part of her report. While she warmed to this man who had obviously loved his wife very much, and felt strongly about being in the report, he was a typical Irish man of a certain age and was uncomfortable talking about his emotions.
    By the time she got to the third house, she was feeling more than a little disheartened. Her camera crew couldn’t give her any clue as to how she was doing compared to Alva; they’d been sworn to secrecy by Kenny.
    She knocked on the door, put on her most professional smile, and waited for the door to be answered. A tired woman, answered the door. She looked over the crew with a resigned expression.
    ‘This is the second interview, right?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes,’ said Nicki. ‘Sorry to bother you again.’
    The woman just shrugged and stood back to let them come in.
    ‘Would there be any chance we could film some scenes with your son?’ asked Nicki. This would be the most difficult part of her job, pushing enough to get a report together that would attract viewers and give the issue in question some traction.
    ‘No,’ came the short answer back.
    ‘Ok,’ said Nicki, her heart sinking further. ‘We’ll just have a chat.’ She went to sit down on one of the chairs.
    ‘No,’ said Imelda. ‘Stand up, I don’t want this going on for longer than necessary.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Nicki. ‘Ok then.’ She had no idea why this woman had agreed to take part in an interview if she was so antagonised by the entire process.
    She stood up and positioned herself beside Imelda. ‘So Imelda, you’ve been looking after your son single-handedly since the day he was born?’
    ‘For the most part,’ said Imelda. ‘The government has provided some respite, but that’s dwindling. I had a nurse from a charity that came in to look after him for a couple of hours; it let me meet up with friends, just have a couple of hours of me time. But they only cover children up until the age of five, and Colin is six. They kept up the resources for a couple of months after his birthday because they knew that they were the only thing I could rely on, but they just don’t